


Improper Conduct

by frasa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3302957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frasa/pseuds/frasa





	Improper Conduct

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Неподобающее поведение](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3301301) by [frasa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frasa/pseuds/frasa). 



\- ...arry! Harry! Oh, for the- HARRY!

Harry tears through his dreams. No, he's not trying to wake up, the opposit of it, actually - he's trying to go deeper, to drown in blissful darkness. He feels Ron shaking his shoulder - almost painfully. He listens to Hermione's irritated voice. Later, he thinks. I'll deal with you later. Now I need five more minutes...

It ends as usual - water splashing right into his face, and Harry snorts, coughs and abruptly sits up. Hermione waves her wand again - this time to dry the pillow.

"Guys," Harry moans hoarsely, wishing only to tumble into bed again, but Hermione immediately lifts her wand threateningly.

"Harry, pull yourself together! You've missed breakfast, we're leaving in ten minutes," Hermione's stern voice echoes painfully in his head. Harry groanes again. Just the thought of breakfast raises such a strong wave of nausea that he almost blacks out. Not paying attention to his friends' judging stares, Harry fumbles with shaking hands around his bedside table, knocking books, dirty cups and his glasses to the floor. There it is! There's still a little of hangover potion left at the bottom of the vial. C'mon, c'mon, the stupid lid doesn't budge, so he rips it off with his teeth, then gulps the few precious drops. Don't breath. Just - endure.

The world stops spinning. Ron silently holds out his glasses, Harry silently puts them on. Now he sees that Hermione's not just angry - she's furious.

"So, where are we heading out in ten minutes?" Harry asks, pulling on a T-shirt and jeans. There are no socks within sight. Well, no matter, they are all holey anyway.

"In eight minutes," she corrects haughtily. Ron rolls his eyes behind her back. "If you were conscious enough yesterday, you wouldn't try to shoot the Ministry owl delivering your mail."

"Trying to shoot, really?" Harry distractedly ruffles his hair.

"Harry, don't you remember what happened?" Ron asks cautiously. He's no longer angry, looking sympathetic, with pity even. Harry suppresses the irritation rising in his gut with great power of will. Ron wants to help after all. Harry must be patient.

"Well, I can guess that nothing good happened," he says absently, searching for his wand.

"You weren't shooting only at the owl," Ron says, looking away.

"Ron, come on, out with it. Give me the count of killed and wounded," still, irritation breaks out. "When are the funerals and how much do I have to pay Kingsley to forget this unfortunate incident?"

"Harry!" Hermione cries out. "What is wrong with you? You- you're so calm talking about murdering people! You were shooting at the neighbors, they called the police, we had to quickly Obliviate them! Where does this gun come from?!"

"'twas a gift," Harry grins, not looking at his friends. The rifle's lying under his bed - quite a costly thing, very light, with cherry butt, inlaid with silver and pearl. Harry often looks at it and thinks it's the best gift. And if he ever wants to take it and point at his own head, it is ideally suited for this. He always thought that the soft wood kept the memory of fingers touching it. It would be nice to get his very last gift feeling their warmth.

"Harry..." Hermione's trying to take his hand but he deftly dodges her and goes to the door.

"Aren't we late to someplace or what? If I managed not to stain my hands with blood, then maybe we should move on from this topic?"

"Hey!" Ron clenches his fists and Hermione throws him a pitying look. God, he hopes this day'll end soon enough and he'll be able to go to his comfy bed again.

"A theft from the Ministry vaults," the girl says finally. "We need to interview suspects. We are expected for lunch at Malfoy Manor."

"Oh, such an honor," Harry grins wryly. "Let's get going then, so we won't offend our hosts."

___

Hangover potion is good, certainly, but not good enough. Harry can barely catch the thread of the conversation - or the interrogation, to be exact - going on in a gloomy living room. Where were you, Mr. Malfoy, what were you doing, Mr. Malfoy, do you have any thought of who might... Oh, you do not? Ron, did you put that down? Harry tries to get comfortable on a hard-backed chair, even though he knows that's impossible. Malfoy has delightfully uncomfortable chairs for unwanted guests. It's likely he spent quite a fortune on their design.

"Your alibi will be checked," says Ron darkly, hiding a note with Lucius' testimony in his Auror folder. Harry realizes that Malfoy once again was able to provide irrefutable evidence of his complete innocence.

"I do not doubt your competence, Mr. Weasley," is spoken with indifferent voice. "And now, lady and gentlemen, if your interrogation-"

"Taking testimony!"

"As you wish, Miss Granger. If this - action - is over, then I ask you to leave my home."

"Polite as always, Malfoy," Ron throws, getting up from his guest-torture chair.

"Ron, quit it," Harry says wearily. It's the first time he speaks since getting here. "Mr. Malfoy," Harry bows, not too politely, but not too formal either and pulls Ron towards the door. "We ask you not to leave the manor before the investigation ends."

"Ask, Mr. Potter?" Malfoy raises an eyebrow.

"We ask, for now," Harry says softly, pushing Ron to the exit. "I trust you'll heed our advice, Mr. Malfoy. Ron, stop shoving me, we're leaving."

The door slams resoundingly behind them. It's suddenly too much light after Malfoy's dark chambers. Snow, which's been falling down all night, is lying untouched for miles around. The charred house resembles a wrecked campfire left in the wild, looking out of place, pathetic.

"Harry, ready to go? How are you?" Hermione gently touches his elbow. "If you want to go home... We can take the reports to the Ministry."

"Thanks, Mione. You go. I- I need to check on something. Then I'll Apparate straight home, promise."

"All right, mate?"

"All right, Ron."

His friends Apparate, after looking back at his thin figure wrapped in a long black coat. He doesn't wear robes anymore, which still shocks wizarding public.

Harry stays still, looking at the snow until his toes lose sensitivity. Then he turns around and walks clumsily through the thick snow back to the manor. He loops round the house, presses a handle of an inconspicuous door, quietly whispers a password. The door opens quietly and Harry quickly steps into the darkness.

Lucius Malfoy is still in the living room. He's standing at the fireplace, lit up by elves as soon as Aurors left the house. His notorious torture chairs have disappeared, the stone floor is now covered in the thick carpet. He stretches thin fingers above the fire, his hair glittering copper and gold. Harry can't see his face but he can imagine: compressed lips, eyes mindlessly watching the flames, white eyelashes casting shadows on the cheeks, hiding dark circles under the eyes.

Harry approaches slowly. He's silent, not trying to go unnoticed, just the thick carpet absorbing his steps. Logs are crackling in the fireplace - it's the only sound. Harry reaches for the man, passes his hands over the shoulders dressed in the slippery silk of an official robe. Puts his arms around the stiff body, pushes it back, into him, presses lightly. It's like embracing a stone statue. Lucius always just freezes, emitting a cold marble vibe. Harry puts his face into the long hair covering the man's neck, tries to breathe warmth into a smooth pale cheek, sticks his nose behind a cute lordly ear.

"Hey," he says, breathing into the ear. He always hopes that this time the statue will come to life. He hopes every time. Of course, it never happens - never happens for him, does it?

Lucius straightens his shoulders and leans back slightly, barely noticeable. That's all Harry has - the signs that are almost there. And, well, he's still not banished form the manor, he has that too.

"Come with me," whispers Harry and Lucius obediently follows him into another room, which is warm, which has a familiar large bed covered with white linen. Harry loves the smell of the room. Coffee, brandy, fresh ironed sheets under their bodies. And how Lucius smells himself - of myrrh, tobacco and leather. None of his friends smell like that. Noone smells like that. He even first learned the word "myrrh" from this aristocratic snob. Harry pushes him into bed, breathing, licking. Lucius pushes back (a bit), answers (reluctantly), allows to rip off his robes, in which he met them in the morning. White skin, white hair. Harry clings to the firm lips, caressing, opening, causing them to soften and to yield. Lucius is tugging at his shirt, and Harry pauses for a moment to take it off and throw it away. He's already lost his jeans somehow. Nevermind.

"You're so good for me," he whispers, moving from a collarbone to a nipple. He kisses, bites, causing Lucius to draw air through his teeth. "Come on, show me... Let me see you..." And Lucius groans. It's like a special reward, making him almost dizzy. Sometimes he gets nothing but a couple of quiet sighs. Today he's lucky, and he triumphantly thumbs and squeezes a cock alredy so familiar to him, smears appearing drops on pale skin.

"Potter," the man under him exhales and lifts his hips shamelessly.

"Malfoy," Harry says softly. He licks the shiny head, happy to elicit another groan. He supports Lucius' waist with one hand, the other stroking the pink delicate skin of his arse-crack. His mouth full with thick hard cock, Harry feels like every movement generates a wave of hot goosebumps from his throat to abdomen. He gently inserts a finger into the relaxing hole. Hips in his arms twitch forward, and Harry adds a second finger. Saliva is clearly not enough, so he summons a tube from a shelf above the bed without looking. He opens the cap, squeezes a good amount and warms the lube in his hands before pushing two fingers inside again. He does it all by touch, because he doesn't want to miss changes that happen to once cold face. The cheeks are now painted with delicate blush, tousled hair scattered on the pillow and matted to the furrowed forehead. The lips are parted and relaxed. For some reason, this is the most touching sight he's ever seen in his life. He'll recall it again when he's alone, the defenseless face and half-closed eyes - nothing indecent, except that turns him on more than any porn.

"Stop staring and get moving, Potter," Lucius hisses. Harry pulls up to his lips, covering them with a kiss. He's poking his cock blindly, not able to hit the spot. Lucius directs him, pushing against him forcefully until he's balls deep.

Harry lays on the top of him, barely holding up his weight. He's only able to sway lightly with the waves of his desire, to inhale myrrh, imagining it can last forever, for ever and ever.

Only it's not true, and they both come pretty soon. They both hide their faces in each other's shoulders, briefly clutching at each other.

They're panting, sweaty bodies against crumpled sheets looking too dark, even Lucius' skin looking golden. Harry caresses him, smearing sweat and come all over. Touches his jawline, strokes his lips, which are not yet closed in their usual thin line. Buries his nose in his hair, quiets down. Lucius lies motionless, allowing the hugs and kisses. Lucius is always like that.

"I feel like a barbarian who'd ransacked a church," says Harry into the pale shoulder. He can't see but he knows Lucius raises his eyebrows questioningly.

"Why so?" His voice is still warm, alive.

"Just- You're lying under me like a ravished peasant," Harry mutteres. "You know, you could embrace me too. I feel stupid."

He doesn't expect it will work and is surprised when warm hands wrap around his back.

"You could do it earlier, man" he says without looking up.

"All you have is to ask," Lucius responds.

"Couldn't you guess?"

"I could guess all I wanted. That doesn't mean I'd do it."

"So, do I always have to ask?"

"Yes, Potter."

"You're such a jerk sometimes."

"That I am."

"Don't get up yet."

"But-"

"I'm asking. Lucius."

"Very well... Harry."

They fall asleep like that.


End file.
